


Bumblebees

by julien (julie)



Category: due South
Genre: Episode: s02e08 One Good Man, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1996-07-13
Updated: 1996-07-13
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Ray is having a crisis of some kind, and is questioning everything in his life - even the Riv. Even the Mountie. Which Fraser finds truly frightening.





	Bumblebees

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This story is set after the episode ONE GOOD MAN. 
> 
> I don’t know that I much like the ‘Victorian gentleman’ version of Fraser that we sometimes present in fan-fiction – a Fraser who represses and protects himself from the world with a painful kind of dignity. If anything, he seems to me a rather less sophisticated, first-season interpretation of the Mountie. But a rather good reason occurred to me for those barriers he’s erected, so I wrote him in that persona anyway. 
> 
> **First published:** 13 July 1996 in my zine Pure Maple Syrup 2

# Bumblebees 

♦

The questions began one morning. Ray Vecchio had come to pick Fraser up for work as usual, everything was normal, there were as yet no surprises. On the way downstairs from his apartment, Fraser had gotten diverted while passing the time of day with a neighbour. Ray didn’t bother stopping – though he did nod a _hello_, Fraser was pleased to note. When Fraser finally caught up with his friend, the Mountie found the cop standing on the sidewalk staring at his car. Staring fixedly, with great gaping concentration, as if he’d abruptly come to a halt and hadn’t moved since.

‘Ray?’ No reply. ‘Ray, what is it?’

‘A 1971 emerald green Buick Riviera.’

‘So it is.’ Fraser waited patiently for a short while. ‘Ray? I’d rather not be late for work if we can help it.’

‘Why do I love that car, Benny?’

‘Well… I’m not entirely sure I understand your rather unique bond with this particular make, model, year and colour of vehicle, but you did once explain to me that –’

‘I _love_ that car, it’s part of my life, it’s the only place I can be that’s mine alone. And I walked out just then and saw it, and it looked like a stranger. It looked like a stranger to me. What’s going on, Benny?’

Fraser looked at his friend. ‘I was hoping you could tell me,’ he said.

‘Yeah.’ Ray headed off round the Riviera, unlocked it, and climbed into the driver’s side. When Fraser joined him inside the car, he saw that Ray was still looking a little off-kilter, staring wide-eyed at the dashboard, hands on the steering wheel at precisely ten-to-two. After a moment Ray shook his head, turned the ignition and pulled the car out onto the street. He drove smoothly, though it appeared from his movements that he had to think about what he was doing.

Partly because Fraser had no idea what was going on, a long silence stretched until they were almost at the consulate. ‘Benny,’ Ray eventually said.

‘Yes?’ asked Fraser.

‘Why do I drive you to work every morning? You can walk it in – what was it? – seven minutes.’

‘But not without back-up,’ Fraser quickly reminded him. ‘You said so yourself when I first moved here.’

‘Oh yeah.’ The man sounded vague. ‘Yeah, back-up.’

The Riviera was parked neatly in a space two buildings down from the consulate. Unable to think of anything else to contribute to their conversation that morning, Fraser took his Stetson from the dash and climbed out. After he’d shut the door he thought to lean down and ask through the open window, ‘Ray? Will you collect me after work?’

‘Sure, Benny. Sure.’

And Fraser watched as Ray and his Riviera disappeared into the traffic. Odd, Fraser thought, trying to characterise the cop’s behaviour. Well, just a little odd. Maybe Ray had not yet had his first cup of coffee for the day.

Shaking his head and dismissing the matter, Fraser headed into the consulate, Dief trotting along behind.

♦

The third question was posed that evening after they’d both finished work for the day. ‘Benny.’

‘Yes, Ray?’ They were at Joan’s coffee shop, just down the road from Fraser’s apartment building, sitting there with a table and two espressos between them.

Ray asked, ‘Why do I believe in God?’

Fraser stared at the man, somewhat taken aback. At times Fraser himself had privately questioned Ray’s apparently thoughtless acceptance of the Catholic church and every article that brought with it. At other times Fraser had envied Ray’s whole-hearted and untroubled faith.

‘I mean, I’m a cop for God’s… yes, for God’s sake. St Michael is my patron saint, he covers cops and grocers and mariners and soldiers. But I’m a cop – I don’t believe anything without evidence.’

‘Isn’t that what faith is about?’ asked the Mountie. ‘Believing without evidence? Or even believing against evidence.’

‘Do you believe in God?’

Fraser dissembled for a moment at this most direct of questions, but Ray was sitting there waiting on Fraser’s reply, the cop’s expression confused and vulnerable and trusting. Reminding himself that friendship required regular acts of commitment, Fraser tried to explain something he hadn’t ever discussed before. ‘I mean no disrespect to your religion, Ray, but there are many other systems of belief that are just as valid in different ways. I have not found myself able to choose between them.’

‘How were you brought up?’ Ray asked.

‘Presbyterian. And that is valid, too, but I am unable to devote myself to it.’

‘So what do you believe?’

Fraser took a mouthful of coffee for sustenance, grateful that his friend allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘Religion answers the spirituality in all of us. I try to live my life in direct accordance with that spirituality.’ When Fraser saw that Ray was frowning over this, the Mountie realised he needed to be more specific. ‘The best religions tend to have a few things in common.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like taking on personal responsibility for yourself and your community.’ When Ray nodded at this, Fraser continued, ‘I believe that religions are about encouraging and enabling people to be the best they can be, to be true to themselves and true to what their spirituality and their consciences tell them. Your religion gives you a reason, Ray, to be the best Raymond Vecchio you can. So I try to live my life accordingly, but without religion.’

‘You try to be the best Benton Fraser you can?’ Ray asked, apparently for the sake of clarification.

‘Yes.’

‘But do you believe in God? A god or gods – any god?’

‘I don’t suppose I do, really. But if there is a God, or gods, I hope he – or she, or it, or they – will be satisfied with me.’

‘You think you’ve got it covered,’ Ray observed flatly. ‘Whatever you find when you die, you’ve hedged your bets. That’s pretty arrogant, Fraser.’

‘Well, yes, you could look at it that way. I prefer to think I’m acting with integrity. In any case, I try to live in a way that feels best to me. I fail, and I learn, and I try harder next time.’

‘You _fail_, Fraser? No, you don’t.’

‘Yes, I do.’

Ray cast him a sour look, leaned his crossed arms on the table, and stared out through the coffee shop’s front window. The Riviera sat there in the street, apparently still presenting its own puzzles to Ray.

‘Did any of that help?’ Fraser asked.

‘No. I don’t know.’ The man sounded so unhappy. ‘I’ll have to think about it, I guess. It’s not fair – too much thinking gives me a headache.’

‘Could you discuss this particular matter with Father Behan? He is far more qualified than I am in matters relating to Catholicism, and might be able to guide you.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Reluctance, even though Fraser knew they both considered Behan a wise and friendly man. Ray’s nimble fingers were playing with the gold crucifix he wore at his throat, as if seeking tactile reassurance. ‘I don’t know, Benny. How am I supposed to believe that Christ died, and was resurrected three days later? I mean, all the stiffs we stumble over every shift we work – how often do you or I see someone come back to life?’

‘Only that once, reportedly, and isn’t that the point of Christianity? That the apparently impossible happened as proof that Jesus the man was actually the Son of God?’

Ray simply shook his head and sank back into troubled silence.

OK, thought Fraser, he would give this one more try. ‘A man named G K Chesterton once said, _The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried_.’

‘What?’ the man asked impatiently.

‘I think you should keep trying, Ray.’ But this encouragement fell on deaf ears. Fraser sat there, worried and compassionate, and unable to do anything to help. The Mountie hated feeling useless.

♦

‘I need you to come back to the station with me,’ Ray announced when he picked Fraser up from work the next day. The cop pulled the Riviera out into the traffic, heading back to the police station as if assuming Fraser would agree.

Which he would, and indeed did. ‘Of course, Ray. Is there a case that I can help you with?’

‘Yeah. It’s this gang of –’ Ray came to an abrupt verbal halt, and he cast an odd stare at Fraser. ‘Why do you do that?’

‘Do what, Ray?’

‘Help me with cases. What do you get out of it?’

_Sanity_, thought Fraser in the tones of a prayer of thanks and of petition. ‘Er, my duties as deputy liaison officer do not require all my skills, and I would like to keep those skills current. Therefore I find it useful to assist you in performing police-work.’

‘So you voluntarily get mixed up in all the drudgery of it, and the danger of it, just to avoid getting rusty.’

‘Yes.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘What else would you expect?’ Fraser dissembled, a little thrown by this fourth question.

‘You tell me, Benny.’

‘Well, it enables me to help people, Ray. It often feels as if my official duties lack a certain meaning, though of course anything in the service of my country –’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Ray sounded sceptical.

Fraser considered him, and posed a question of his own. ‘If our roles were reversed, would you not be grateful for the opportunity to do the type of work you were qualified for and considered meaningful?’

Ray frowned, and said, ‘You’re grateful for working with me?’

‘Yes.’ Staring firmly ahead through the windshield, Fraser wondered if that had been an inappropriate thing to say. It was true, of course, but it might not have been completely appropriate to vocalise the matter. A long moment stretched. Casting about him for something more fitting, Fraser soon prompted, ‘You were telling me about a case…?’

‘Er, yeah.’ Ray glanced around as if recalling where he was and what he was doing. Fraser wondered if Ray was feeling any more comfortable yet in the emerald green interior of the Riviera. ‘There’s this car-jacking gang operating in the neighbourhood.’

‘Car-jacking?’ Fraser asked.

‘They didn’t have urban crime in downtown Moose Jaw?’

‘No, Ray.’

‘OK, it’s where some jerk approaches you when you’re parked or you’re at a red light, breaks into the car – or simply opens the door if it’s unlocked – turfs out the driver, and makes off with the car and whatever happens to be in it. Sometimes the driver gets hurt, too.’

‘That is a serious crime.’

‘It is. And there’s this local gang who are targeting classic cars.’

‘Like 1971 Buick Rivieras?’

‘You got it in one. Scum like that have no respect. This is personal, Benny.’

‘For a man without a car,’ Fraser quoted, ‘is nothing?’

‘Yeah.’ Ray glanced at him with a frown. ‘You’ve been paying attention, huh?’

‘Yes, Ray.’

A brief silence as the cop pondered something, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. ‘Sometimes,’ Ray finally said. ‘Sometimes I guess I figure you don’t really listen very much.’

‘I _do_ listen, Ray.’ The cop glanced over again, so Fraser nodded earnestly – though he was aware that Ray might interpret that very earnestness as sarcasm. ‘I listen particularly to you,’ Fraser offered. ‘Sometimes, however,’ he added for good measure, ‘I fear I don’t quite always understand.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh. Well, American cultural references. Car-jacking. Something you mentioned the other day to Detective Huey – a _mosh pit_, was it? A girl had been hurt in one, but I wasn’t sure…’

Ray smiled, though he looked a little sad as well, as if Fraser had just disappointed him. ‘OK, I’ll up-date you on mosh pits some other time. For now I need your help on this car-jacking thing, all right?’

‘Yes, Ray.’

‘Mosh pits,’ the detective repeated, smile growing.

‘Yes, Ray.’ Fraser didn’t know whether to be pleased at amusing the man or not.

They had reached the station. As Ray parked his car and then led Fraser upstairs to the squad room, he began filling Fraser in on the latest case of stolen vehicles. The Mountie listened with suitable seriousness although, now he thought about it, there was a part of him that felt an odd kind of happiness in having the opportunity to solve this crime. The Mountie was so involved in the case itself that Fraser didn’t notice for quite a while that Ray had begun looking at him with a strange frown on his expressive face.

♦

‘Can I come upstairs?’

This was such an unexpected question that it didn’t even register with Fraser for a long moment. He bent down to look in through the window of the Riviera. ‘You want to come upstairs,’ he repeated rather stupidly, ‘to my apartment.’

‘No.’ Ray sighed. ‘Yes.’ The man still hadn’t moved from the driver’s seat.

‘Well, of course you may,’ Fraser said. He silently added, _Why do you feel you need to ask?_ That would probably be inappropriate, but this did make Fraser wonder what was going on – right from when they’d first known each other Ray had quickly gotten into the habit of doing as he pleased, of visiting or leaving Fraser’s apartment, of coming up or not as he wanted, without a hint of politeness. Which had been discomforting and challenging at first, though Fraser had grown to accept it as an expression of Ray’s trust. And now Ray was asking.

The pair of them walked up the two flights of stairs in silence. Ray seemed tired, hands shoved in his coat pockets, shoulders slumped, feet trudging.

‘May I make you a coffee, Ray?’ Fraser asked once they had reached apartment 3J.

‘Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know, Fraser.’

Putting the kettle on despite this indecision, Fraser surreptitiously began watching the detective. It seemed that Ray was troubled about something else. Perhaps he hadn’t resolved his doubts about his religion yet. There was that look in his eye again, as if Ray had turned around and discovered something he’d thought was familiar to be a stranger, much as he’d done with the Riviera.

Having noticed all of that, Fraser felt he probably should have expected the fifth question. It was brutal.

‘Fraser. Why the hell are we friends?’

The Mountie stood there in his tiny kitchen, arms folded, kettle busily simmering beside him, endeavouring to remain guard-duty calm. ‘I beg your pardon, Ray?’ he politely asked after a time.

‘Why are we friends? It makes no sense, you know. There’s no good reason for it. We have nothing in common, nothing at all.’

‘We don’t?’

‘No.’

This seemed patently untrue. ‘Well, we’re both law enforcement officers.’

Ray’s head lifted, and he met Fraser’s gaze. The Mountie felt hopeful that he’d quickly managed to avert that difficulty. Until he saw the hard speculative glint in the cop’s eyes. ‘That’s why,’ Ray said. ‘God, I’ve been stupid. You told me as much the other day. It’s just so as you get to run around working cases. It’s nothing to do with me, right? It’s just about using my jurisdiction.’

Fraser shook his head in denial, struck dumb.

Silence.

Eventually Fraser remembered to take the kettle off the hotplate before it boiled dry. How odd all this was. How odd and how horribly disconcerting. Because Ray hadn’t actually left yet, and hadn’t actually refused the offer of coffee, Fraser set about making two cups of it, though the task seemed more difficult than he’d anticipated.

As if the bustle of the Canadian’s clumsy activity had freed the Italian-American to talk, Ray began, ‘I guess it’s like bumblebees, huh, Fraser? That’s why we’ve never talked about it.’

Missing both the reference and his cue, Fraser eventually said, ‘About what, Ray?’

‘This alleged friendship of ours.’

Struck dumb. Mute and dumb, as in stupid. ‘Bumblebees?’ Fraser asked when he relocated his voice.

‘You know – they can’t fly. Aerodynamically speaking, there is no way they should be able to fly. The laws of physics forbid it.’

‘Ah. The ratio of body mass to wing span…’ Fraser contributed.

‘Yeah. Well, this friendship is like a bumblebee, Fraser. It can’t fly. No one’s told the bumblebee yet, is all. No one’s told us.’

Fraser took the cups of coffee over to Ray, and handed him one. He accomplished this feat despite the chasm of potential loss that stretched between them. Unsure of what to say, or how to say it, Fraser settled for the tactic of supportive silence. The two of them sipped at the coffee, standing vaguely close together in the dim no-man’s-land between Fraser’s bed and his table.

Perhaps the tactic had been a wise choice, for eventually Ray put his empty cup down on the table and said – completely flooring Fraser – ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.’

‘Yes,’ the Mountie quickly replied. ‘I’d appreciate that.’ Wondering if he’d heard right, for hadn’t Ray just been saying their friendship couldn’t really work? Odd, disconcerting and terribly confusing.

The cop looked morose, and unsettled, but he nodded a farewell before walking out of the apartment. Leaving Fraser stranded there on his own. Without even Diefenbaker for company or reassurance, for the wolf was with Willie for two nights.

♦

It was only an hour later, as Fraser lay awake pondering Ray’s latest question, it occurred to the Mountie that he really should have endeavoured to find an answer for the cop. Fraser really should have thought of all the reasons why Ray was his friend, and told the man. An alarming number ran through Fraser’s mind now without any mental effort at all. Although which he would have started with, and how he would have found the best words to verbalise them, Fraser really couldn’t say.

♦

The Riviera pulling up to 221 West Racine – such a minor happening in the overall scheme of things, but it felt like a miracle to Fraser. Too anxious to remain upstairs, Fraser had come down to wait on the sidewalk. And Ray arrived, as he’d said he would.

Not that they were out of rough waters by any means – Ray still had that jarred expression on his face, Ray was still examining everything around him askance. The car wasn’t being driven in the assured way that meant it was a part of Ray Vecchio, an extension of him – the friend that sat beside him wasn’t being ignored, or talked to, in that comfortable way they’d once had.

‘How are you today?’ Fraser politely asked when it was clear Ray wasn’t proposing to start a conversation.

The cop shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said, though it was patently false.

Fraser would have asked how Ray had slept, but memories of his own restless night were too vivid, and Fraser’s question might prompt Ray to ask the same, and that might lead to discussion of the reasons why Fraser’s sleep had been troubled, and frankly Fraser was too glad to be sitting here in the Riviera’s passenger seat to want to bring any of that up.

Instead the Mountie asked, ‘Did your cousin have any information pertinent to the car-jacking case?’

‘Al, yeah… He was going to ask around for me, sound out a couple of people on where he could get cheap parts for vintage or classic cars, not being too fussy about sources. I’m going to see him later today.’ Ray cast an indiscriminate glare around the world. ‘You know what he said?’

‘No, Ray.’

‘He suggested he ask around for 1971 Buick Riviera parts, preferably emerald green, because that would add verisimilitude to his inquiries.’

Fraser watched the man beside him, not quite understanding why Ray was so outraged by this plan.

‘Don’t you get it? He’d be setting up my car. The gang will target any make and model there’s a demand for, and they’re operating right here in my neighbourhood.’

‘Oh.’ Fraser nodded. ‘I apologise, Ray, I must be a little slow this morning. I hope you dissuaded him from such a risky course of action.’

‘That’s great coming from you – you made me blow up the first one, you failed to save the second one – I’m surprised, to say the least, that you don’t want to use this one as bait.’

Fraser could feel himself paling, and hoped it wasn’t obvious. As they drew near the consulate, he blurted out, ‘Perhaps I could take the afternoon off, and accompany you when you go to talk with your cousin.’

At first silence met this suggestion. Ray was staring fixedly out through the windshield. But eventually he said, ‘Yeah, sure. If you have the time.’

‘I do. Inspector Thatcher recently advised me that I have an excessive amount of annual leave accrued, and I am required to take it. I don’t believe I have any urgent or onerous duties today, so this seems to be a good opportunity.’

Ray nodded, and parked the car.

Fraser climbed out and suggested, ‘I’ll meet you at the station at lunchtime.’

‘No, call me. I’ll come pick you up.’ And the Riviera pulled out into the traffic.

Watching it go, Fraser had the most horrible idea. If Ray thought Fraser only offered him friendship in return for participation in Ray’s cases, and for Chicago PD assistance in Fraser’s own concerns – then Ray would have interpreted Fraser’s request to accompany Ray that afternoon as purely selfish. Fraser had intended it otherwise. Fraser had really only intended to help his friend.

But of course it had been a selfish tactic, if not exactly for the reasons Ray would attribute it to. Selfish on the basis that being with Ray, and continuing to work as his unofficial partner, would prove something to the cop, something that the Mountie couldn’t put into words. And that was indeed selfish, for Fraser did not want to lose this friendship, no matter how aerodynamically improbable it was. Fraser did not want to lose Ray. No.

♦

‘Would you like to come upstairs, Ray? I could make you some coffee.’

Anxious moments until Ray said, ‘Yeah,’ turned off the ignition, and followed Fraser up to his apartment.

The two of them had followed up a couple of leads Ray’s cousin Al had given them, and discovered that one in particular looked promising. A certain garage seemed to be conducting far more business, on far larger premises, than it could legitimately lay claim to. Fraser would have thought Ray would be pleased at this progress, but the cop seemed as dispirited as ever.

Fearing that Ray was still pondering their allegedly impossible friendship, Fraser wasn’t brave enough to initiate any conversation. Instead he brought the mugs of coffee over to his table, where Ray was sitting with his head drooped over his hands. And Fraser sat down opposite him.

In a desultory tone, Ray began, ‘I want to know why I’m not…’

‘Yes, Ray?’ Fraser prompted when the silence threatened to overwhelm him.

‘Why I’m not with anyone.’ Ray looked up at the Mountie, fixed him with a sharp gaze, and declared, ‘I think I’m having a mid-life crisis, Fraser.’

‘Oh.’ Knowing little of these matters, Fraser carefully asked, ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Nothing’s like it used to be. I’m questioning everything in my entire life. Everything is strange. Even Ma – I even found myself asking why I still live with my mother.’

Fraser nodded, considering this. After a while, he hazarded the observation, ‘It must feel very unsettling for you.’

‘It’s not fair, Benny!’ the man wailed. ‘I’m barely thirty-five, I shouldn’t be going through this yet.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’ Ray fastened onto this glib reassurance with inappropriate eagerness.

While these last few days had been frighteningly unsettling for Fraser as well, he knew he owed his friend the truth. ‘Well, I must admit that mid-life crises are less common in the Territories than in Chicago, so I can’t say that I fully understand the term you use to describe your current situation. However, is it such a bad thing,’ Fraser continued, daring to think aloud, ‘for you to periodically review your most vital relationships and your most fundamental beliefs?’

‘It’s horrible, what the hell are you talking about?’

‘Ray, surely every person who thinks at all must ask themselves these kinds of questions on a regular basis.’

‘Then what are the answers?’

Fraser looked at the man blankly.

‘Come on,’ Ray demanded, ‘you’re a thinker. What are the answers?’

Fraser shook his head, feeling useless again. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You said all that, so you must ask yourself, too.’ Ray leaned forward across the table, his intensity lightening his hazel eyes so they became quite green. ‘Who are _you_, Benny?’

Unprepared for this challenge, Fraser said unevenly, ‘I wish I could help. I wish I could tell you what you need to know. But it is not my place to find your answers for you.’ A difficult pause while the Mountie searched for a way of assisting their conversation. At last he said, ‘You were asking why you’re not with anyone? Do you refer to a long-term personal relationship? Of the romantic kind, I mean.’

Ray winced, and subsided a little. ‘Yeah.’ He sighed, and sat back in his chair. ‘I never told you anything about Ange, did I?’

‘No. No, you didn’t.’ Fraser tried to make that sound encouraging and interested and caring. Not pushy or resentful. Or needy.

However, it now occurred to Fraser that he could guess what had prompted Ray to begin questioning everything in his life. Losing the Riviera and then gaining a new one, losing Louis Gardino and Irene Zuko, and then encountering his ex-wife – these were all good reasons for Ray to begin re-examining those things that were most important to him.

‘That was her Mustang at the garage again, Al still hasn’t got the timing fixed.’ And Ray launched right into the long awaited explanation. ‘We got married young, made it last just over four years. Four years and two months and seventeen days – but who’s counting?’ Ray offered Fraser a wan smile, as if this was an old joke, though the Mountie couldn’t imagine the cop sharing this bittersweet humour around. ‘I really liked that, Benny, I really loved Ange and I really loved being married to her. It was the most… comfortable time of my life. And then she –’

Fraser nodded, trying to convey his compassion.

‘I never could figure out why she left me, you know? I mean, she tried to explain it to me a hundred times, and it just never made any sense to me. I couldn’t grasp it, I guess I’m kind of slow sometimes. But, anyway, that was what she wanted, so I let her go. Hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ Ray met Fraser’s gaze, very directly. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go. What do you think?’

‘You did what was right.’

‘Letting her go without a fight?’

‘If you loved her, you were right not to fight her.’

Ray sank lower in his seat, defeated by the sadness of it all. ‘I miss her,’ he confessed in a rough whisper. ‘I miss having that in my life. The two of us, it was all warmth and love and comfort and fun. Don’t get me wrong, we had some God-awful arguments, too, but I don’t know…’ The man looked around, wide-eyed but sightless. ‘I miss being married. Is that crazy? Every other man complains about his wife, Louis always swore he’d never marry again, but I miss being married.’

‘Then you are more honest than they are.’

Ray stared at him. Desolate. Fraser had never seen anyone as desolate as Ray Vecchio was right there and then. It tore something asunder in Fraser – his empathy for this man betrayed his own reservations, and he reached a hand across the table to hold one of Ray’s as an expression of concern. Completely inappropriate, perhaps, but apparently acceptable to this vivid Chicago man.

This Italian-American, who seemed so much more willing to live his emotions than Fraser had ever been. This man was hanging onto Fraser’s offered hand, holding it hard in both of his, head hanging over their clutch of hands as if in desperate need of a lifeline. Fraser pondered the matter, considered the man before him. While Ray did not seem reduced in any way, he had at least temporarily lost that bright brash confidence. He had lost his certainty, and he was in need, Ray Vecchio was in need. And if Ray’s Ma or sister Francesca were here, they would no doubt envelop him in warm Italian comfort.

Well, perhaps Fraser could do that. The last real unselfish hug he’d been blessed with from friend or family had been from his mother, but Fraser supposed hugging wasn’t a skill that needed practice – he should just take his cue from this man, and trust his instinct to simply do the deed. Take the opportunity to prove their friendship not only existed but was valuable. The thought in itself should count for more than the actual hug if Fraser botched it up. Unless one or other of them misread the intent.

But now he was looking for excuses not to. Fraser called on all his resolve, stood up – not letting go of Ray’s hands – and walked around the small table. Disregarding his dress uniform, he knelt on the floor beside Ray’s chair. Lifted his free hand to Ray’s arm. As Ray turned to look at him – and before Fraser could doubt himself, or find something to fear in Ray’s expression – Fraser slipped his arm around Ray’s broad shoulders, and shifted himself closer.

With the faintest moan of need, Ray was holding onto him, wrapping both arms around Fraser’s torso and leaning in to tuck his head against Fraser’s shoulder. And the two friends gathered each other up for a lovely long while.

Peace and trust and warmth. A blessing of and from this world. Happily corporeal and emotional.

And, for Fraser at least, sexual. He had been afraid he would react that way to the simple and oh-so-rare fact of someone being in his arms, having long ago realised that these wayward reactions of his were much the same for either gender. But that was of no real consequence – and he would hide any hint of it from Ray. Inappropriate, really, to feel this way for another man. For his friend, his best friend. So Fraser would give Ray the comfort he required, and then carefully withdraw.

Meanwhile, was it unforgivably selfish of him to indulge and luxuriate in his body’s sweet and powerful response? To enjoy encompassing those strong shoulders. To tilt his head just a fraction more so he could rest his cheek against the smooth prickle of Ray’s close-cropped hair. To feel his sex awaken and unfurl after so long a hibernation.

Enough. Fraser endeavoured to fix his focus instead on his friend, on externals. Though that wasn’t much help really – Ray was holding onto him with a desperate energy. And after a time Ray murmured sorrowfully, ‘Oh, Benny,’ and reached one hand to the nape of Fraser’s neck, to stroke gently at his hair.

Could it be possible that Ray was also reacting in sexual ways? Fraser lifted his head, encouraged Ray to lift his. A heavy-lidded warmth pervaded the man, but there was a trusting innocence in those green-hazel eyes. No, Ray was revelling in the intimacy of comfort, but as far as the cop was concerned this was friendship – no more and, in fact, given his recent questions, perhaps rather less.

Time to tactfully withdraw before Fraser embarrassed himself. Before Fraser destroyed any new-found understanding between them.

Except those fingers at his nape were burying through Fraser’s hair to provide a teasing massage to his scalp. Fraser stared hard at Ray, trying to read him. So provoking, yet surely it was merely instinctual – Ray was simply trying to repay the offered comfort. And of course the response was rather more generous than Fraser’s original gesture. The American’s gentle fingers meant far less than the Canadian’s would have if they were exploring the base of Ray’s delicately-shaped skull.

At this stage Fraser wasn’t sure he could stand without revealing the horribly obvious physical reaction he’d had to his friend’s touch, despite the heavy restrictions of his dress uniform. Fear kept him there, kneeling on the floor. But Fraser’s response grew more heated with every passing moment, as Ray unselfconsciously met his hungry gaze and returned their looser embrace.

Friends. Surely this must mean they were friends, Fraser tried to reassure himself. Which was wonderful. But, oh, it was lovely to do this. Lovely and scary and…

Finally the stimuli were all too much, and Fraser leaned in to press his mouth against Ray’s in the clumsiest and hungriest of kisses.

The cop was startled. The Mountie had not misread the man’s innocence. Startled, very uncertain, but not completely unwilling. Not really responding to the kiss, but not ending it either. Beautiful – Ray Vecchio tasted beautiful and complex and thoroughly compelling, and Fraser wanted to take forever to explore him.

Which simply wasn’t possible. When Fraser pulled away to ascertain what the situation was, just how much of a disaster he had created, Ray looked back at him. The cop was as open to Fraser’s suggestion as ever. Lips parted in unthinking surprise and instinctive hunger – face slightly flushed – eyes glowing green-hazel with flecks of gold, his dark pupils widening. Though confusion was the overriding reaction. Confusion and a taste of excitement, a willingness to trust. A hint of curiosity. A willing though passive welcome, to be completely blunt about the matter, which a man with active inclinations could hardly help but respond to. Need.

All right. Fraser could trust Ray with this. Surely he could. Surely this open and trusting man could be safely offered Fraser’s excessive vulnerability.

Wariness be damned, the Mountie thought. Still on his knees, Fraser crushed Ray against him chest to chest, and kissed the man with all of his own need – and the whole thing was almost over then and there as Ray’s lips moved beneath his own, as Ray’s palms and fingers spread wide and firm against the small of Fraser’s back.

But, no, Fraser had to make the best he could of this. For his own hunger, for Ray’s sad loneliness, for the sake of their already impossible friendship. Fraser pulled away, and took Ray’s hands in his, encouraged his friend to stand with him. Led him over to the bed, Ray quite co-operative, quite tame. It would no doubt be wise not to underestimate the changeability of this man, however. Wise to assume that Ray might have second thoughts, or decide to protest, at any time.

Fraser sat them both down on the side of the bed, lifted Ray’s hands to press a kiss to each palm, before kissing the cop’s expressive mouth again and discovering new riches as he did so. Difficult not to just pull Ray back onto the bed right now, and selfishly find that ultimate pleasure pushing up against him. Fraser’s hands ran down Ray’s narrow strong back – and one of the men moaned into the kiss, Fraser wasn’t sure which. Too intense.

And Ray must have found it so, too, for his fine city hands spread against Fraser’s chest, lightly at first but then firmly pushing him away. A tentative smile bloomed on Ray’s face, undermining any interpretation of rejection. ‘Slow,’ the cop murmured. ‘Take it slow, Benny. I’ve never done this…’

Of course Fraser hadn’t, either – not with a man, at least, for he assumed that’s what Ray meant. But Fraser didn’t mind Ray thinking that Fraser knew what he was doing. Not that he did. In fact, if he thought about this right now, he might literally run from the room. He’d been so scared of losing Ray’s friendship, that’s where this had started, and he’d wanted to comfort Ray this evening, and the physical contact had driven him to… to kiss the man.

‘Ray,’ he groaned, in great need. ‘Please.’

‘Sshhh…’ Ray’s hands gentle on his arms and torso, exploring. Ray’s green-hazel eyes, and then his fingers, roaming Fraser’s face. ‘Slowly, Benny.’ And then shocking as one hand dropped to the Mountie’s thigh. ‘I don’t even know if I can.’ That hand crept higher.

‘Please,’ said Fraser. Afraid that Ray would continue, terrified that he would stop.

And Ray smiled again, mysterious now rather than tentative. ‘Slow. Don’t even know if…’ Perhaps he wanted to find out if he _could_ before this went any further, for that hand was suddenly stroking Fraser’s hard excitement through the thick cloth of his dress trousers. ‘Guess I can,’ Ray happily announced.

Beyond words, Fraser clutched at Ray, held onto him for dear life – for an orgasm shook through Benton Fraser, as vivid and as involving and as beautiful as the man who caused it.

Aftershocks rippling through him, Fraser opened his eyes to see Ray, the Mountie’s hands still hanging onto the cop because Fraser was afraid that Ray would leave him or – if he stayed – would mock him, or not understand. But this man was returning Fraser’s hold with gentle hands, a shy kind of smile sitting awry on his mouth, wonder wrinkling his brow.

‘You OK?’ Ray asked. Carefulness instead of sarcasm – a blessing indeed.

‘Yes.’ And, rather than take it slow, Fraser lifted fingers to clumsily work at Ray’s shirt buttons. He didn’t want the cop thinking that Fraser was done yet. Didn’t want Ray to get away from him.

But apparently Ray wasn’t going anywhere, not yet at least. They undressed each other in a friendly sort of manner, neither letting the other get ahead or fall behind in this mutual task so that, within a few minutes, they both stood naked there by Fraser’s bed. He’d made a mess of his dress uniform, of course, and Ray hadn’t been as neat in folding each item across the nearby chair as Fraser would have liked – but Ray was his priority for now, and the uniform would have to wait.

‘What shall we do?’ Ray murmured. ‘How shall we do this?’

Fraser caught Ray’s hand in his, tugged his friend down onto the narrow bed, and they lay there in each other’s arms. Heady stuff this, Fraser found – Ray’s soft warm skin against his, the cop’s wiry strength shifting across him, Ray’s mouth hungry, the man’s hardness matching Fraser’s renewed response… They were moving together, Ray mostly on top of Fraser, instinctively discovering a rhythm, and it was enough, simply moving here with him was more than enough –

Letting out a moan, Fraser felt a second orgasm gathering to unleash itself within him.

‘Slow, Benny, we can take this nice and easy…’

The reassurance was welcome, but Ray’s intentions were thwarted almost before they’d been formed. Fraser cried out as the pleasure took him, as evidence of it pulsed sweet and sticky between their bellies. Just as beautiful and just as individual as the first orgasm had been. And just as scary, for Fraser thought Ray must soon lose patience with him. Fraser suspected that this had been a very bad idea. ‘I’m sorry,’ he offered.

‘Don’t be.’ Gentle words again, though the cop was kind of puzzled, too. ‘I don’t know…’ Perhaps he wanted to ask, but the two of them never talked about their relationship, they had already established that fact, and right now Fraser really didn’t want to attempt an explanation of his precipitate reactions. Too much ground to cover, and all of it personal.

Instead, it was more than time to take care of Ray’s hunger. Perhaps in a way that wouldn’t involve Fraser himself so directly. Fraser shifted down the bed on hands and knees, tasting Ray as he went, tasting his own seed. Taking the core of Ray into his mouth before he could doubt himself, belatedly hoping that enthusiasm would substitute for a lack of technique.

Ray seemed happy enough with the results. His hands gripped at Fraser’s shoulders, fingers digging in deeper, which apparently indicated his growing pleasure. Fraser was also rewarded with a multitude of moans, as varied and expressive as the cop’s smiles and frowns. Making love with Ray Vecchio was definitely an assault on all five of Fraser’s senses.

This was taking a delightfully long time, particularly in comparison to Fraser’s own helpless headlong rushes to completion. Fraser patiently continued in his efforts, enjoying the challenge by varying his approach while deliberately not increasing the intensity. His friend was soon thrusting up from the bed, voice wordlessly imploring. Slipping his arms around Ray’s waist, Fraser lay down, weight on the man’s thighs, in an effort to contain him, propping his feet against the floor for support.

Long beautiful rich minutes fled by. Ray began begging for an end to it – and eventually he reached their mutual goal, sobbing out, ‘Benny… Benny, my God!’ as he pulsed ambrosia into Fraser’s mouth. At the taste and the sound and the feel of his friend’s urgent climax, Fraser himself was inundated with another orgasm – he would have tried to hide it from Ray, but he was already spurting semen against Ray’s calf.

Concentrating only on his friend, Fraser gentled the man’s most sensitive organ with his tongue, until finally Ray could bear it no longer and pushed him away. Fraser shifted up the bed to take Ray into his arms, and they lay there together for a while.

A short while only, Fraser was disappointed to find. Ray felt and appeared to be quite distant, distracted by other concerns and other questions. Soon he was pulling away from Fraser’s embrace, getting up and heading for his clothes, looking down at himself with distaste. It seemed he was about to deal with the mess by wiping it down with his shorts. Fraser had a better idea.

Within a moment Fraser was on his knees on the floorboards again, hands on Ray’s hips, tongue lapping up his semen from Ray’s flat belly, exploring amidst the scattering of dark robust hair. And then crouching lower on all fours to lick up the deposits he’d left on Ray’s long shapely calf.

‘Benny, don’t –’ The man sounded a little disgusted, he was looking down at Fraser with his brow raised in unpleasant surprise. ‘I don’t know,’ Ray said unhappily, ‘I don’t know anything about any of this.’

‘I don’t know, either,’ Fraser whispered, pressing his face to Ray’s fine thigh for a moment. Once he’d done, Fraser sat on the bed, and watched as Ray got dressed. The cop was half-turned away the entire time, as if he wanted to avoid the sight of Fraser but didn’t trust him enough to turn his back on him. Perhaps this whole evening had been a particularly bad idea. Fraser sighed internally, though he kept everything but a good-natured friendliness from showing on his face.

Ray was soon fully dressed, and patting pockets to check for his keys and wallet. And then the cop was nodding a distant farewell and heading out the door.

‘Goodnight, Ray,’ Fraser murmured as the door closed. And he was alone again. He really should be used to it by now.

♦

A few hours later, as Fraser lay awake fretting over the possible outcomes of what he’d shared with Ray, it occurred to the Mountie that he’d let another opportunity go by. When Ray had expressed his uncertainty, Fraser had only compounded the problem by agreeing with him. _I don’t know, either_ – what kind of a weak reply was that? Fraser really should have tried to clarify matters, or at least express an urgent interest in doing so. Or maybe he could have suggested that they continue to work through what had happened between them, by trying again, by sharing more. Fraser really should have asked why Ray sounded so unhappy. The words eluded him though, even now on sober reflection, and it all seemed so damned hopeless.

♦

A very bad idea indeed. Ray didn’t pick him up for work the following morning. Fraser waited as long as he could, standing there on the sidewalk outside his apartment building, but then he set off walking at the last possible moment so that he wouldn’t arrive late at the consulate. Ray knew what route Fraser took, and could catch up with him if necessary. But no green Riviera pulled up near Fraser, or waited outside the consulate building. Fraser took his Stetson off, bent his head in grief for a moment, and went inside.

He almost called Ray a hundred times during the day. His hand would wander of its own accord to the phone, and he would mentally punch in the numbers. Fraser imagined Ray sitting at his desk in the gloomiest corner of the police station, Ray picking up the handset and confidently announcing, _Vecchio_. Or perhaps Ray was out and about somewhere, working a half-dozen cases at once, slipping out his cell phone and flipping it open. Fraser thought of his own voice whispering directly in Ray’s ear via the phone, murmuring, _Ray, it’s me_, wanting to take the man’s tender earlobe between his teeth and gently tug –

Which was all highly inappropriate when Fraser really should be working, concentrating wholly on the business at hand. Not distracting himself with idle day-dreams, the intensity of which he feared might lead him to inadvertently make a mess of yet another uniform.

_Ray, it’s me, it’s your Benny. And I want –_

_I want._

It was a particularly long day.

♦

No Riviera waited outside the consulate when Fraser’s shift ended. No Riviera outside 221 West Racine or Joan’s coffee shop. Fraser sighed and headed upstairs to his apartment.

‘Perhaps I should have called him,’ he said to Diefenbaker. ‘It’s not that he minds feeling crowded, after all.’ The wolf offered no opinion on this. However, Fraser knew that the Italian-American lived every day crowded round on all sides, and had never seemed to really mind Fraser adding to the many demands on him. Despite the man’s constant complaints and his recent doubts, he’d seemed to welcome Fraser. Indeed, the Mountie’s friendship had seemed to fill a need in the man’s already overflowing life. But, in that case – where was he? Where was Ray now?

Fraser had to wait a while longer. He’d settled on his bed in his long-johns, reading a selection of local newspaper and police reports on the phenomenon of car-jacking. And finally there was a rat-a-tat on the door.

When Fraser opened the door he discovered Ray Vecchio standing there in the hallway, head down and glowering at Fraser from under his brow. Ray never knocked these days, or stood waiting in the hall – tonight was of course the exception. Neither of them greeted each other or said anything, because there was nothing and there was everything to say.

But Ray at last asked, ‘Why did you do that?’ in tones both demanding and plaintive.

Backing away as Ray strode into the apartment, Fraser found himself halted by the dividing wall. Victoria’s voice echoed, _How could you do that to me?_ Which unnecessarily added yet another layer of confusion and guilt and need to the situation, though Ray couldn’t have known that.

‘Why did you do that, Fraser?’

He shook his head, mute and stupid. Again.

‘As if I don’t have enough questions in my life right now.’ The cop pushed the door shut behind him, somewhat harder than required. ‘As if I don’t have enough to think about.’ And Ray began pacing around in a tight angry little circle. ‘Now I have to worry about whether I’m queer, for God’s sake.’

‘That’s a term each individual tends to define differently for themselves,’ Fraser offered. Despite Ray’s answering glare, Fraser continued, ‘One isolated incident needn’t force you to redefine your entire sexuality.’

‘Why did you do this to me, Fraser?’

How could he possibly reply, when he barely knew the answer himself? ‘What did I do?’ Fraser whispered, though he feared how harshly Ray would describe his actions.

_‘What did you do?!’_ Ray spat out, as if mortally offended by the question.

Well, there was no point in Fraser attempting to explain what happened, surely. It had all started with his virtually uncontrollable physical response, which Ray would not find flattering – the cop might as well be the meat thrown to Pavlov’s dogs. Or was it possibly nobler than that – had it started with the most well-meaning and friendliest of hugs? Yes – because it had, in the event, meant so very much more than transient satisfaction to Fraser.

Oh, Fraser really did not want to lose this friendship. He did not want to lose Ray.

But the silence had grown even more turbulent. Ray was glaring at Fraser, holding himself oh-so-still, mad and maddened. And then at last the cop broke, striding close, striding right up to Fraser, and kissing him – kissing him bruisingly, kissing him beautifully.

Fraser let out a groan as the potency of it fell through him. It wasn’t even a question of choosing to surrender to it – Benton Fraser was little more than sexual need under these circumstances. Which was why of course he avoided as much intimate contact as he could. Though for once he didn’t mind too much, because it was Ray Vecchio provoking this in him. And he trusted Ray. He wanted Ray. And while Ray’s own motives were unknowable, the responses in Fraser were overwhelming. Sublime.

The cop pressed his wiry body up against Fraser’s stockier frame, strong and demanding and hard. Caught between the wall and Ray’s fine anger. Mouth being devoured. He loved Ray. He needed – Another groan, and orgasm surged through Fraser, leaving him gasping for breath. Shuddering.

He had to pull away from the kiss. When Ray realised what was happening, he stepped back in dismay. Leaving Fraser off-balance and inundated with a pleasure so pervasive it was daunting.

‘Are you all right?’ A note of concern and chagrin mixed in with Ray’s wariness and residual fury.

Fraser was quieting now, slowly regaining a sense of himself. He nodded in reply, hand darting out to steady himself as he crouched by the wall. Yes, crouched – he must have almost fallen in the midst of it.

Ray’s hands settled gently on his shoulders. ‘You sure?’ The cop was now hunkered down beside him, and perhaps this changeable man had already let his anger go.

‘Yes, Ray.’

‘I still don’t know anything about –’

‘I believe I am beginning to figure out my side of it,’ Fraser quickly said, seeking to reassure – and then immediately worrying he would frighten Ray off.

But when Fraser lifted his head, he saw a hint of wonder on Ray’s face. ‘Benny,’ the cop said. ‘Is this just for me? This, er… these instant results. Or have you always…?’

‘I’ve always,’ Fraser told him. The Mountie stood, not wanting to lose the difficulty of that intimately concerned moment, but needing to regain a little dignity. Ray rose, too. ‘It has caused me a few terrible embarrassments.’

‘Ah,’ Ray said, apparently beginning to understand a thing or two.

Fraser escaped a few feet away into the kitchen, and began making coffee. The familiar task was comforting. To minimise the effect of the distance on them, Fraser confessed, ‘I’ve discovered that women don’t find speed to be a desirable trait in such circumstances.’

‘Well, that’s hardly fair,’ his friend argued reasonably. The cop was loitering, slouching comfortably with his fists thrust deep in his trouser pockets. ‘It’s not like you don’t make up for it in stamina. My God, you just kept going regardless last night. Very impressive.’

‘Thank you.’ Fraser brought the coffee over, and they stood there together sipping at the hot liquid. ‘I’m sorry, Ray,’ Fraser eventually said. ‘I only intended to comfort you as a friend yesterday evening. It’s my fault that I responded in that way, and it’s my fault that the situation got out of hand. I should have known better.’ Fraser found the resolve necessary to lift his gaze to Ray’s face. ‘I certainly did not wish to drive you any further away.’

Ray nodded. He was looking elsewhere, considering.

Fraser clutched the coffee mug in both hands, boosting his courage with the warmth of it. He swallowed hard. ‘You asked last night who I am. The answer is that I’m your friend, Ray.’

‘Really?’ Startled out of his contemplations, the man took a step back, surprised. And then he became alarmingly focussed on Fraser as he thought about this some more. ‘You don’t say, _I’m a Mountie_ – you say, _I’m your friend?’_

‘Yes,’ Fraser whispered.

They just stood there for a while, considering each other. Eventually Ray said, ‘We never talk about it, Benny. Why do we never talk about it?’

Fraser shook his head, feeling kind of dazed. ‘It’s not easy to do. We haven’t been brought up to discuss such things. Man to man, as it were. Although I suspect you might have somewhat more experience in talking about and dealing with emotions than I do, given our family and cultural backgrounds.’

But Ray refused to be side-tracked. ‘I figured… I guess I figured it was because there was nothing really there. It was just an accident, us meeting, me being assigned to your father’s case, and there’s no real reason we’re still friends all this time later.’

‘Do there have to be reasons?’

Ray shrugged. ‘Maybe not. I would have thought you’d want there to be, though. You’re the rational one, right? You’re the thinker.’

‘I could list you reasons, Ray. But, ultimately, I simply want to… rely on it.’

‘Good.’ Ray nodded. ‘I figure you can.’

‘I can rely on it?’ Fraser asked for the sake of clarification. ‘Does that mean you have found some answers?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Then, why do you love your car?’

Ray looked at him, and took a large mouthful of coffee, perhaps surprised by the change in focus, or by the fact that Fraser remembered. ‘The Riviera? Well, it’s as in-your-face and obnoxious as I am, and there isn’t a high-speed chase it can’t keep up with.’

Fraser nodded, though he couldn’t help but murmur, ‘I don’t find either of you to be obnoxious.’ He also paused for a mouthful of the rapidly cooling coffee, and then asked, ‘Why do you drive me to work every morning?’

‘Sorry about today.’ Ray had shame written huge across that mobile face, though he didn’t avoid Fraser’s gaze. ‘I got about a block away, and I just chickened out. And, well, I didn’t know what to think.’

‘It’s all right, Ray. I’m sorry I didn’t phone you today.’

‘I guess we’re both good at avoiding things, huh?’

‘Some things,’ Fraser agreed. ‘And I’m afraid that I am better at it than you. So, why do you drive me to work?’

‘Back-up. When you first got here, I honestly thought you wouldn’t survive the week. I mean, I know you’re going to be all right here now, but… It’s a good excuse to see you, OK? Start the day right.’

Fraser smiled at this admission. ‘Why do you believe in God?’

‘You really remember all this stuff I’ve been throwing at you?’

‘Of course.’

Ray shrugged, and sipped at his coffee. ‘I really didn’t think you paid that much attention.’

‘I do, Ray. I’m your friend.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I have faith in God. Reckon I’ll talk to Father Behan sometime, but I do believe. I figure it’s too intrinsic now to get away from, anyway.’

‘I think it’s a very good part of you,’ Fraser offered. ‘I think you derive a lot of energy and motivation from your faith.’

‘And decency and stuff.’

‘You have that anyway. You are an ethical person, Ray.’

The man wandered over to the kitchen bench, and put his half-empty mug down. He looked askance at Fraser. ‘Really? People don’t usually say that about me.’

‘Then they don’t know you very well.’

‘Just as well you do. We’ve got this little mutual admiration society thing going on nicely here.’ A smile, distracted though genuine. ‘What was the next question?’

‘One that I need to answer. Why do I help you with cases?’ Fraser took a breath. ‘I explained part of it. Working with you does keep my skills current, and enables me to help people. But the significance is that it keeps me sane, Ray.’

‘Sane?’ Hushed tones. It was indeed a serious word to use.

‘If I was here in Chicago as a deputy liaison officer, without you, with no opportunity to work as a police officer – I wouldn’t be quite sane, Ray. That might sound like an exaggeration, but…’

‘No, it’s OK.’ Ray was considering this. ‘Given who you are,’ he finally said, ‘I think I understand.’

‘Your next question,’ Fraser said. And he had to clear his throat before he could continue. ‘Why are we friends?’

Ray shrugged with a marked lack of concern. ‘We just are. Bumblebees fly regardless. I know that now.’

‘You said that it didn’t make any sense.’

‘And you said you had a list of reasons.’ Ray stuck his fists into his pockets again, turned away a little. ‘It just is, Benny. I rely on it. We answered that one already.’

Fraser let it go. ‘Why aren’t you with anyone?’

‘I’d like to be,’ Ray responded in a whisper. He looked across at Fraser, and asked the seventh question. ‘Am I queer?’

It suddenly occurred to Fraser that these issues might have become related in Ray’s mind. Fraser’s hands trembled. Ray was approaching him, rescuing the mug before the cold coffee could spill. The mug was placed on the kitchen bench, and then Ray came to stand in front of Fraser again.

‘I think I’d like to try it, Fraser.’

He stuttered out, ‘Try…?’

‘You and me. That’s what this has been about, hasn’t it?’

‘What? What’s been about what?’

‘Love, Benny.’

‘Love?’ Fraser grimaced with impatience at himself – he really had to do better than this. ‘But, Ray, you were so angry with me.’

‘Well, of course I was. I guess I only just realised this while we’ve been talking. It’s a good thing for friends to talk, huh? We could love each other, don’t you think?’

‘Oh.’

Ray tilted his head, puzzled. ‘You don’t want to?’

Fraser reached out to grasp Ray’s forearms before the cop could get away. Though it seemed after all that Ray had no intention of leaving. Yet. ‘This, er…’ Fraser began. ‘This alacrity with which I respond physically. It’s left me in quite terrible situations. A few. I’ve avoided a great many others. But it’s difficult to trust people with that part of me.’

‘You trusted Victoria Metcalfe with it,’ Ray reminded him with a touch of bitterness.

‘I’ve made mistakes.’

Ray looked at him, forgetting the bitterness already. Offering compassion now. ‘You’ve been hurt. I know how that feels.’

‘Yes.’ Fraser nodded. They each bore scars, but perhaps that only added depth to what they could be for each other now.

Lifting a gentle hand to Fraser’s face, Ray asked, ‘Can you find it in yourself to trust me?’

Fraser nodded again. Mute. And doing the smartest thing he’d ever done.

‘You _can_ trust me,’ Ray promised.

‘Yes,’ the Mountie finally managed to say. ‘We’re friends.’

‘Yes, we’re friends.’

‘You won’t mock me for it.’ Though even now it was a question.

‘I won’t.’ Ray took Fraser’s hands gently into his. ‘I won’t mock you. But I can’t promise never ever to tease you.’

‘I’ve been ridiculed for it, you see, and so there has only been a few people I’ve trusted enough to make love to – I mean, _consciously decided_ to make love to. Do you understand? You’re one of them, Ray. My response to you was quite individual, not generic.’

A moment while Ray frowned over this. ‘No, I think I got all of that, except for the last bit.’

Fraser rushed on. ‘I don’t want you to think I respond like that to everyone. Well, I do, in a way, but I want _you_, Ray, and not everyone else or indeed anyone else.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ the man said. ‘I want you, too.’

‘I love –’

And that was when Ray leaned forward and kissed him.

Beautiful, heady, wonderful stuff. Ray was spinning them slowly round, waltzing them both over to Fraser’s bed. Pleasure powered through Fraser, leaving him a little dizzy, a little silly. When the cop broke away, the Mountie gasped for air, grasped for the remnants of control.

‘So, is it still good for you?’ Ray murmured as he began undoing the buttons on Fraser’s long-johns. ‘Or are they just commonplace by now?’

‘Oh, no, they’re still as potent as ever,’ Fraser whispered, wrestling with the difficult task of getting Ray out of his shirt. ‘Even more so.’

And that was the strange thing, of course – no matter how frequent the orgasms, no matter how insignificant or tawdry or humiliating the provocation, the sensation was always incredible. Soul-shattering. Which only increased the difficulty of the situation, at least where whoever he’d been with was aware of what had happened.

‘Quite overwhelming,’ Fraser added. And he had the vague and rather wonderful suspicion that being with Ray would in itself add yet another pleasurable dimension to the whole thing.

‘Good…’ Ray began nuzzling at his throat while the cop slowly peeled the long-johns back off Fraser’s shoulders, using the garment to temporarily trap the Mountie’s arms behind him.

Delicious. ‘The list of reasons,’ Fraser said, trying to distract himself with sober thoughts, ‘why we’re friends.’

‘Yeah?’ Ray breathed.

‘I could tell you them all.’

‘Rather be showing right now,’ the cop said between kisses, ‘not telling.’

A shudder ran through the Mountie. If this went the way Ray seemed to intend, Fraser would indeed need to call on all his stamina to keep up with his friend. His lover. ‘Then I’ll tell you them,’ he offered, ‘one each day.’

‘How long would that take?’

‘Oh, years. Decades.’

‘All right.’ Another kiss, to his mouth again. Glorious. ‘What’s today’s?’

Easy. ‘You’re the bravest man I know.’

‘No…’

‘And you therefore inspire bravery in me.’

‘And because of that, you can trust me with this part of you?’ Ray tilted his head back to look at Fraser.

‘Yes.’

‘Then, hell, I _am_ the bravest man you know,’ said Ray. And they kissed, a beautiful soul-deep kiss. Ray’s fine city hands wandered down to spread against the small of Fraser’s back, and it was almost over then and there.

Fraser took a deep breath, gave himself over to Ray Vecchio, and trusted. As Ray pulled him even closer, those hands massaging his flesh, Fraser succumbed to yet another orgasm – and this one was the most powerful of his entire life.

♦


End file.
